


Just One Yesterday

by esmeeeeme



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeeeeme/pseuds/esmeeeeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the very beginning, Patrick Stump felt like it was going to be a breeze. Easy enough delivery, even if it was of a extremely valuable object.</p><p>Little did he know just how damned wrong he was.</p><p>And just how much it was going to cost him.</p><p>[AU, set in Just One Yesterday, One shot, Patrick's perspective. First FOB fic!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: After Just One Yesterday came out, I decided to do a thing. The thing took me a long time to write and finish because of other stuff going on. And very shitty wifi. But after the long wait, here's the complete one shot. I feel really proud of it finally being finished. And then, freaking Where Did The Party Go came out and that definitely motivated me to finish this. And that lap dance scene. The entire Fall Out Boy fandom really wanted to be that nurse, including me. Yo, I wouldn't mind. At all. But onto a more serious note, the Save Rock and Roll album has helped me out a lot in life and I’ve been wanting to write a fic for the video series. Yo, it’s like a fucking TV show. Very interesting concept. And since I’m a sucker for all things supernatural, here we go!! 
> 
> Tl;dr= Patrick's perspective of what happened. Not 1st person pov. I don't own FOB or their videos. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Where did everything go wrong?_

He repeated that thought every day ever since the entire mess began.

_When did it all start going wrong?_

When did he fuck up?

How did everything even lead to this?

And most of all: when will it all end?

He’s been in dangerous situations before, he’ll admit that. Some very scary, some a bit strange, many of them consisting of him wondering why the hell his life has gone down this path.

But none as dangerous as this.

In the very beginning, Patrick Stump felt like it was going to be a breeze. Easy enough delivery, even if it was of a extremely valuable object.

Little did he know how damn wrong he was.

And just how much it was going to cost him.

But now, he was on the run from people he knew nothing about. Not just him, but his best friends too.

All thanks to his one mistake.

He still remembered every small detail. Seeing his best friends’s reactions to the briefcase. The small smirk. Pete telling him to be careful. His own reply. _Pete, I got this. No need to worry._

He remembered feeling the cold handcuff around his wrist, the small click it made when it locked into place. He remembered walking out of Andy’s flat. He remembered making his way down the street, looking around and acting casual. Seeing an adorable little kid on a bike, smiling.

Then he remembered the feeling of blinding electricity throughout his veins. Then, he just collapsed on the cold sidewalk, not knowing just what the hell just happened.

He remembered waking up tied to a chair. He remembered the adrenaline rush with fear, thrashing around, trying to escape. Cursing, attempting to fight while tied down. For once, he didn’t care who the opponent was, who they worked for, what their intentions were. All he had to do was get the fuck out of wherever the hell he was. He had done that before and damn well succeeded, more or less. Usually with a few scratches or cuts. Nothing a first aid kit wouldn’t fix up.

But what had lingered in the back of his head at the time was how come he lost now?

He remembered the blinding pain as the butcher’s knife cut away his handcuffed hand. He screamed, agony taking over his fear.

He remembered the ill attempts to escape while being strapped down to an operation table, feeling items poke and prod his skin, feeling his body slow down as he became numb.

Then, the haze.

He remembered the haze. The drug induced haze. There was something connected to his arm...Then there was smoke. Colored powder.

Everything turned blurry.

There was a bright light. And more smoke. Laughter, singing, finger snapping in unison. Just him and his friends, singing along to the same old song. Sometimes going off key, sometimes getting off beat. Yet, they were still in sync. Their hearts, their happiness.

It felt like they were being themselves.

But even under the happiness, it felt artificial. Intoxicated happiness. He felt drunk with joy and feeling like he could take on the world, when in reality it was just drugs.

And then, it slowly faded away. He fell asleep, softly, numbly.

Then he remembered the abrupt wake up.

The reality hit him hard when he woke up, still tied to chair.

He was tied down again. In a cold, small, most likely fake chapel. He was connected to many machines, feeling sharp electric charges throughout his body.

He remembered trying to shake the binds off, looking around for an escape. Feeling agitated and adrenaline rushing along his body.

He knew the feeling.

The feeling of change.

 He hated it and feared it at the same time. Change. He knew he had to encounter it in his life, but just because he had to, didn’t mean he had to like it. He feared that it would distance him from his best friends, his family, his passions and hobbies. He feared it would change the relationships with the people he knew and loved. He feared that it would change him. Who he was.

And now, there it was, being used against him.

It was a different kind of change. It didn’t have the feeling of dread he normally had to encounter. He felt like it was burning him alive.

But he wasn’t on fire.

He was scared.

Next to him, the machines were going out of control. He felt his body bring fried. The lights began going red.

_What the hell is going on?_

He felt his mind turn blank.  

Suddenly, he remembered being thrown in a van, snapping him out of his trance, the burning from inside going away. Everything began going on at once. He could hear his friend’s voices, scared and shaky. Reassurances that everything was gonna be alright.

Feeling different things at once. Fear. Confusion. Sick. Dizzy.

Crashing and being jumbled against one another as the van took quick turns. Pete’s words of assurance, “We’ve always made it home before, right? So, who says we can’t make it now?”

Patrick now being aware of having a hook for a hand. His own reaction of "What the actual fuck." 

Then the smoke in the van. Patrick remembered everyone cursing and frantically cutting off the rope with his recently acquired hook and yanking off each other’s bags from over their heads. Everyone piling out, collapsing, cursing, shaky. Scared.

Before them, there stood a gang of kids.

A gang of actual kids with weapons.

_Um…_

The fact that this wasn’t the strangest thing Patrick has seen lately disturbed him.

They all looked roughly around the age of 10 or so. A pair of twins were among them. And the leader, he assumed, was the same kid from before.

The same kid he smiled at. Then got fucking tazed.

The same damn kid.

Before he could even ask what was going on, the kids ran at them. Yelling, cursing, wielding their weapons.

“Oh fuck me,” Joe mumbled.

The foursome broke and ran.

Pete ran left. Andy ran right. Joe ran center.

Patrick ran wherever the hell his feet took him.

He felt branches scratch his exposed skin from trees, hearing the kids yelling behind him. Wielding their weapons, telling him that he was going to die. He could see the smoke from the van as he took turns, hoping he wasn’t running in circles.

Then he saw the same kid from before.

He was no longer smiling. He had a dark glint in his eyes. And a boom box.

Before Patrick could attempt to run away, the kid hit play.

The burning returned.

It was like a bullet being shot from a gun. It hit hard and in those few seconds, he felt his consciousness take back seat to the burning pain.

He blanked out.

It only lasted a few seconds.

In a blink, the kid was on the floor and- _oh God, is his head backwards?_

Startled, he backed away.

And for some odd reason, his old friend, Sean was there.

_How the fuck did he even get here?_

Sean flipped the boom box off and tossed it to the side.

“Run, Patrick! Just run!” he yelled, rushing him.

Patrick didn’t even get to say thank you before he started running.

Then, he fell down god knows where.

Again.

Rubbing his knee, he leaned against a log. He could hear crickets and owls in the distance. The area was cold.

He was running back where he had gone before, desperate for help. And he saw Sean on the ground. Dead. The pool of blood around him, staining the grass. He remembered falling onto his knees, mortified. He remembered apologizing aimlessly to Sean, crying, wishing that everything had never happened. 

He remembered hearing some rustling from the dark. He remembered tearfully leaving Sean.

He remembered running.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Then, he remembered falling. Tripping on fallen branches the woods, rocks ledged in the path at night. Hitting something hard and letting out a curse. Then his entire body just gave out to exhaustion.

Then everything going black.

* * *

There was bright sunshine in the chilly, crisp autumn fall.

 It was morning.

 Once again, Patrick Stump escaped death.

He winced at the bright light. Then he noticed the snake on his stomach.

_The same snake from the table._

Horrified, he backed away quickly, seeing it slither away.

What a way to start his morning.

Well, it was better than it had been recently. 

“Well….At least I’m alive.”

_And where the hell did this hook come from?_

With his good hand, he patted his pockets, letting out a curse when he didn't see his phone.

Of course the hot girls in leather pickpocketed him.

His wallet was gone too. Same went for loose change, keys, gum and anything that was in his pockets before he was, well, taken.

He checked inside his jacket pockets. Gone. Not even a piece of string.

He stood up and stretched, wincing at the sunshine and hearing his bones pop.

_Now what?_

He looked around.

"Pete?" he called out. "Joe? Andy?" he waited for a response.

Nothing.

With a sigh, he decided to walk along the road, hoping to find some answers and a ride.

He lifted his good hand up, doubting anyone would give him a lift. And well, he couldn't really blame them. Seeing a bleeding man with a hook for a hand would raise many questions and alarms. People would get scared and drive off, pressing the gas pedal a bit more harder than necessary.

He faced the facts: he was alone and lost.

He saw some of the license plates of the few passing cars, whose drivers ignored him and continued driving, and all of them had California with bright red cursive on them.

Okay, so he was still in California. There was an answer. He wasn't shipped off to another country or state.

Patrick was somewhere familiar. Good. A good place to start.

He knew his way around the Los Angeles area. Well, certain parts of it. Some portions he stayed away from entirely.

From the looks of it, he was in one of those portions.

That is, if he even was in Los Angeles. He could be anywhere in California right now.

He looked around, hoping to find Pete, Joe and Andy, walking and searching.

He lifted his good hand.

"Ride? Anyone? Please?" he called out.

Just before he was going to give up, a red pick up truck slowed to a stop.

"Need a lift?" the driver asked over the loud engine.

"Yes, please," Patrick walked to the passenger's seat.

"Hop in!"

Patrick was relieved.

And suspicious.

Here he is, a man with a hook for a hand. He’s bleeding and covered in dirt and blood, feeling a bit empty inside, sick, probably not smelling that good either.

And a stranger picked him up.

He’s unsure to be feel lucky or alarmed.

“You aren’t looking so well,” the driver commented, not at all taken back by Patrick’s appearance. She had a hat, blue and black patterned blouse and a large, black ring. She also had a smooth British accent.

“Appreciate the compliment,” Patrick replied dryly.

“Hehe, just trying to liven up the mood. You look kinda down,” she grinned. “I’m Louisa. I’d shake your hand but….” she gestured to the hook.

Patrick looked a bit wary. He was thinking of saying a fake name. But she is giving him a lift….

“Patrick,” he replied. He really had nothing to lose anymore

“Pleased to meet you. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong?”

Patrick glanced down at his hook hand.

Should he tell her?

“Um….My friends and I ran into some trouble.”

“Well, you need a doctor.”

“So do my friends….”

“Where can we pick them up?” Louisa asked.

“That’s the thing. We can’t pick them up....”

Slowly, Louisa seemed to understand what Patrick was referring to.

"Oh! Your friends are lost too?" she asked.

"Yeah...."

"Well, do you know where they might be?"

"Not exactly.... But maybe, they're nearby."

"Hmm...." Louisa thought about it. "How about we try finding your friends and then, we take you all to a hospital?"

Patrick was taken by surprise. A stranger offering to help find the rest of the guys and then take them to help.

Too good to be true.

He had the benefit of doubt though. He damn well deserved to have it, after this entire mess.

But fuck it.

"Deal."

"Great! Now...how do your friends look like?"

"In the same state as me."

"Missing a hand and in need of a shower?" she joked.

He let out a dry laugh. “Haha.”

“Too soon? Oh well. Trying to liven up the mood here.”

“You’re fine. But…. Aside from the hand part, yeah.”

Louisa nodded. “Alright. Just tell me when to stop to pick ‘em up.”

She started driving.

Louisa was pretty, he noted. Soft complexion, large eyes, full lips... She was really pretty. From what he has seen, she was feisty, sharp, sassy.

Opposite of what the women how kidnapped him. They were hot and all.. But not pretty. Not natural beauty, unlike Louisa.

He was grateful. Grateful that Louisa had saved him.

And suspicious.

It was too good to be true. A beautiful girl comes to pick him up on the side of the road when he has a hook for a hand and offers to help out finding his best friends.

Since when did things began going his way?

....But maybe he got lucky, for once in a long time. Maybe the odds were in his favor.

Maybe, just maybe, things were clearing up a bit.

He didn’t blame himself for being suspicious. He’s pretty sure he earned the damn right to do so lately.

If only he could undo the past……

He took a deep breath and looked outside his window, seeing the sunshine stream through multi colored leaves on branches.

Come to think of it, he hasn't seen sunlight since they took him. The afternoon where he thought it was the easiest delivery in the world.

The afternoon his entire life changed.

He closed his eyes and felt the sunlight warm his skin.

It felt nice.

He missed it.

"You alright there, Patrick?" Louisa asked.

"Yeah, ...“Tell me a bit about yourself. Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“That’s really far.”

“I’d say the same to you. I’m guessing you’re from England?”

“You guessed correct.”

“What brings you to our foreign shores?” Patrick asked.

“Oh, the typical. I needed to see what the big city of Angels place had to offer. England got a bit boring.”

_So we are in Los Angeles….._

“That’s nice.”

“Oh yes. Los Angeles, beautiful, diverse. Colorful.”

“Yep. It’s a great place.”

Patrick looked ahead at the road and saw a figure leaning on his left leg, dressed in black. Dirty, bloody, short haired.

_Andy._

“Stop the car,” he said quickly.

Louisa stepped on the brakes.

“Andy!” Patrick yelled out. 

Andy was hurt. Badly. Way worse than Patrick was. Bleeding from his face, leg, arms, everywhere. He was clutching his bloody leg. His face was flushed from the California sunshine, bloodstains all over his body and clothes.

_Oh god._

It felt like being in a nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was blunt, harsh reality. It was the feeling of cold and fear but not being able to do anything about it.  His best friend, his goddamn _innocent_ friend that had _nothing_ to do with this entire mess, was hurt.

And it was all thanks to his mistake.

“Patrick!” Andy called back.

Patrick wanted to jump out, grab his best friend and hug him. He wanted to take him somewhere safe. Somewhere where nobody was going to hurt him. Give him food, a drink, a blanket, anything. Take him somewhere and anywhere that wasn’t right now.

_You didn’t deserve this, Andy._

“Jump in!” Louisa called out, motioning to the back.

With a lot of effort, Andy jumped into the back of the pick up, groaning as he sat down. He slid over to the passenger portion, where Patrick was.

“Patrick?” Andy asked.

“Yes, it’s me. Andy,” Patrick looked Andy over.

_Oh god….Andy, you didn’t deserve this. No…._

He saw the look of utter fear. Andy was horrified.

Andy grasped Patrick’s arm. “Dude, what the hell is going on?” he asked, scared. “Where is everyone?!”

“I have no idea,” Patrick let out a shaky sigh.

“You’re bleeding,” Andy said, eyes wide.

Sure enough, Patrick could feel a little bit of blood running down the side of his face. “It’s not bad.”

“Not bad?! You have no hand!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Patrick said with a poor attempt of a smile.

_“Patrick.”_

"Andy, it's fine."

"Does it hurt?"

Normally, Pete was their self appointed leader. And Patrick didn't mind. Pete was quick to adapt to situations and wasn't afraid to call people out on their bullshit, even if it brought a backlash. And Patrick trusted him. Completely.

But Pete wasn't there.

Pete was missing. At this rate, Patrick wasn’t sure if the kids caught up with him or not. He wished they didn’t.

Patrick took a shaky breath.

_Fuck it._

Patrick was going to be brave. He was going to be the leader. Something he never was, but he is sure as hell was gonna be in the following minutes.

_Desperate situations call for desperate decisions._

He looked over at Andy again, then down at his hook hand. It still hurt a lot, but not as much as it did when they cut it off.

Wow. He lost his hand.

He lost his _fucking_ hand.

_Rise above it._

“It hurts a bit,” Patrick replied.

_Be a leader._

“But let’s not worry about it.”

“If you insist. What are we gonna do?” Andy asked.

“Even though the situation is really bad, we’re gonna be alright, okay?” Patrick reassured.

_Be brave._

“We’re gonna find Joe and Pete, get us patched up, and go home,” he added. That sounded like a sure enough plan to him.

_Even though it means that you have to lie._

“What about the briefcase?” Andy asked.

“Fuck the briefcase,” Patrick replied. It was already compromised and there was not worth the risk to go out and find it. He’ll face the consequences when his boss found out. Till then, his main priority was saving his best friends and getting somewhere safe.

“All we need to do is find the rest and get the hell out of here,” Patrick said with full honesty. 

“But where are we gonna go to?” Andy asked.

“Anywhere. Vegas, Baltimore, New York, home.”

Home.

Chicago.

It felt so far away from Los Angeles. Very far.

"You sure?" Andy asked.

"Sure enough." Patrick smiled.

But he wasn’t sure. He was scared.

_Even if it means to lie._

"Just hang in there,” Patrick said, squeezing Andy’s arm lightly.

“Same goes for you,” Andy replied as Patrick went back to his seat.

“Where to?" Louisa asked.

"Just keep on driving. They have to be around here somewhere." To Patrick's memory, they split up near the same spot, getting ambushed and beaten up by the kids.

“Have you seen the rest?” Patrick asked Andy.

Andy shook his head. “No.”

“Keep an eye out, Andy.”

“Will do.”

Louisa continued driving

“One down, two to go,” Patrick muttered.

Part of him feared the worst had happened to Joe and Pete. That those kids had gotten to them….That they did something far worse and

  _No. Stop it. They're going to be okay. Well, hurt. But okay. Alive. Breathing._

They drove on for ten or so minutes and to Patrick's relief, Joe was on the side of the road.

"Joe!" Patrick called out.

Joe looked up.

He wasn't in a good condition also. Covered in blood, dirt, grime. A leaf every now and then in his hair. The upper part of his leg was wrapped with a sheet, red blood still seeping through it. He still wore his wedding band.

_Oh god. Joe's wife._

He still has his family. He has pets, a job, a home, his wife.

He had a life that will never be the same.

"Those kids really fucked me up," Joe said.

"Tell me about it. Getting beat with a nailed bat hurts like a bitch," Andy winced.

_None of them deserved this._

Patrick felt his heart sink down a bit more. 

His best friends got beaten up. Tortured. Almost killed.

All thanks to Patrick's mistake.

_If only I could undo this entire mess..._

They continued driving.

“Pete!" he shouted out.

_Oh god._

Pete's eyes were red and puffy. Like Patrick and the rest, he had blood all over his face and body.

He stumbled into the back of the pick up, Joe pulling him in. Pete held onto Joe’s arm and gave him a one sided hug.

Pete crawled forward a little bit and hugged Andy tightly.

“Oh Andy, I missed you,” he mumbled.

Through the glass, Pete gave Patrick a small smile. A reassurance.

Patrick weakly smiled back.

Pete settled in the back of the truck.

And promptly began laughing.

"Fuck you world! I'm alive!" Pete raised both of his middle fingers. "I'm alive motherfucker!"

Louisa tossed Patrick a water bottle. “Need a drink?”

Patrick accepted it. "Thank you, Louisa. But...."

Louisa winked and pulled out two large water bottles from under her seat. "I got it."

She opened the door and announced over the truck's engine. "Hello boys, need some water?"

"You are an angel sent from Heaven above!" Joe blurted out as Pete took the bottles and passed them around.

Louisa laughed. "Me? I'm no angel."

“You are!” Joe protested.

Louisa beamed. “Enjoy your water.” She went back into the car.

Typical Joe. Patrick shook his head and leaned back in his seat, sighing.

"You okay there Patrick?" Louisa asked.

"Yeah...just....." he glanced the back of the pick up, seeing Andy pass a water bottle to Pete. "Relieved. Really relieved."

The driver raised her eyebrow. “Relieved?”

“Everything has been such a mess…” he glanced down at his hand. “It’s just really fucked up.”

“But it’s all over now huh?” Louisa asked.

“I sure hope it is,” he sighed, looking over his shoulder, seeing his friends through the glass.

"You really do care for them," Louisa continued driving, a small smile on her face.

"Of course I do," Patrick leaned back onto his seat. “They’re my friends, practically family.”

He looked out the window.

_Where did everything go wrong?_

“We’re gonna have to have you guys checked out,” she glanced at Patrick’s missing hand. “You guys really need some food….And a doctor.”

Patrick agreed. “Can you take us to a clinic?” he asked.

“There’s a community hospital not too far away.”

Patrick sighed in relief. “Louisa, you are a life saver.”

Louisa grinned. “Don’t thank me yet. Relax. You’re safe.”

Patrick felt like a weight was taken off his shoulders.

His friends and him were going to live.

_Just this once, everyone lives._

“Relax, Patrick.”

If anyone would've told him that the two days before in that chapel, he couldn’t relax. At all. He wouldn't do it. His life in the hands of who knows who.

But…..He was safe now.

He was going to go and get help. His friends were with him.

He’s safe.

Wow, he was safe.

Relaxing….Well, he can try.

_Just this once, everyone lives…_

His heartbeat began to slow from the quick paced adrenaline filled it had been going on for the past few days. It was turning more stable. More in control.

Like his life.

Everything is going to be okay.

For a while, he kept on looking outside. Taking in the world around him. The red and orange hues on the trees, the sunshine, the birds singing. The beautiful green hills in the distance.

Soon, the woods were disappearing behind them and they were nearing civilization.

The radio played on an oldies station he had listened to once. Louisa sang along quietly to a song he didn’t know the lyrics to. His best friends were talking and chatting in the back, Andy was comfortably leaning on the glass window, still at Patrick’s side. He didn’t move the entire trip from his spot.

 Louisa hummed along to the music, eyes concentrated on the road.

The trees began to disappear into houses of different sizes and colors. Familiar street names appeared on top of bright red Stop signs.

He was almost there.

Patrick looked outside his window and saw rows of corner stores and pharmacies, elementary schools and clinics. Dry cleaners and car repairs. All lined up, each painted with bright, peeling paint.

Bright, colorful, diverse.

_The city of Angels._

Los Angeles.

_Home._

He missed it.

The truck slowed to a stop a few blocks later, parking on the dry grass. 

Linda Vista Community Hospital.

_We're here._

Patrick turned to thank Louisa and froze.

There was a snake on her arm.

Her eyes were completely pitch black.

 _Oh shit._  

She pressed a button on the radio.

And the burning returned.

Shots fired, Patrick winced and yelped, feeling the thing inside him emerge.

It was like yelling but being muffled by duct tape. You could scream  for help all you could, shout how you weren’t going to let them get away with it.

But in the end, they did.

And he could do nothing.

Because once that thing heard those notes, it took over, taking the host’s body along with it.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: How about that for an ending! Woo, awesome. But really, the Where Did The Party Go video changed literally all the theories I had in mind for the YBC. I predict Miss Missing You is the next video because well, y'know, Joe is FUCKING DEAD. I want to see what the rest of the YBC has to offer. I guess until then, more fic! Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


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